


Two by Two: A One is One Sequel

by Polly_Lynn



Series: Without Number [2]
Category: Castle
Genre: F/M, Female Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gen, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-12
Updated: 2014-06-19
Packaged: 2018-02-05 07:26:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1810207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polly_Lynn/pseuds/Polly_Lynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's more anyway. More than just a guy thing. She's Beckett. She's family, and there's nowhere for this to go. There's nothing for how bad this all is. So they joke. They laugh, because what else can they do?" A follow-up to One is One, my episode insert for Tick, Tick, Tick (2 x 17). AUish from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is actually where One is One started before Castle hogged the POV, then handed it over to Beckett.

  


* * *

It's bad.

The first few minutes are _really_ bad. Right after Castle calls, there are casualties. Esposito's mug doesn't make it. He slams it down on the desk hard enough to break off at the handle. Hard enough to send a crack zig-zagging all along the bottom.

And the Captain. That's bad, too.

They're already throwing on their jackets. They're halfway to the elevator when he tears his door open. The blinds rattle and worse. Casualties there, too. Something topples and smashes into a thousand pieces, but Montgomery ignores it. He sticks his head out the door and the three of them stare at each other for a silent moment. It's bad.

Montgomery barks at them. " _Go!"_

They go.

The siren screams and Javier pushes the cruiser hard. He jerks the wheel and cuts in and out of lanes like it might help. Maybe it does help him. Maybe it's how he copes. Ryan just feels coffee and cold cereal creeping back up his throat.

They joke all the way over to Beckett's. In between Grand Theft Auto driving maneuvers, they joke. About the strange habits of Beckett groupies. About what happens when you don't tip the paper boy. About why, exactly, Castle is calling from Beckett's place at the crack of dawn.

They keep it up until Esposito's pulling in at the curb. It's what they do. It's how they cope when it's bad.

And this is bad.

There's a body on her doorstep, and that's anything but funny. Some _psycho_ made it all the way to Beckett's doorstep, and that's not supposed to happen. Not to any of them. The bad guys aren't supposed to get that close.

Plus . . . it's Beckett.

She's a cop. Probably the best of the three of them. Definitely the best cop _he's_ ever known, and posturing aside, he knows Esposito would say the same. Montgomery would, too.

She's a damned good cop and she's their boss, but she's _Beckett,_ and yeah, there's a little bit of a guy thing that neither of them knows what to do with, other than stuff it down. Because she will _kill_ them if anything like that makes it out of their mouths. She will kill them without breaking stride if she catches a whiff of anything like that.

It's more anyway. More than just a guy thing. She's _Beckett._ She's family, and there's nowhere for this to go. There's nothing for how bad this all is.

So they joke. They laugh, because what else can they do?

* * *

They stop on either side of the body. The place is already crawling with FBI and CSU and uniforms are crowded into the narrow hallway, keeping the neighbors at bay.

They're in the way, but they stop. The vic is young. It doesn't matter, but it does. She's sprawled on her back in bright, pretty clothes, and it matters. It matters, and all of a sudden it's bad again. As bad as it was in those first few minutes.

Ryan nudges Esposito's elbow. It takes a second. It takes more than a second, but he snaps out of it. His fists clench once and his jaw twitches, but he's rolling his neck then. He's jerking his head to the left and giving Ryan the nod.

Castle's there. They knew that. He's the one who called in the first place. The one who lobbed the first joke and let them know she was ok. They knew he was there, but still.

It's good to _know_. It's good to see him there, trying to follow everyone at once. It's _normal._ The way he's underfoot. The wayhis head swivels around after the CSU guys and he's peering over FBI shoulders in case there are any cool new toys he should know about.

He was there. He's the one who opened the door, and thank God for that. It's Ryan's first thought and he sees the same on his partner's face. _Thank God._ At least she wasn't alone.

Whatever the guy had planned. Even if he never had anything more in mind than dumping the body. Even if _she's_ the cop and Castle . . . isn't. Even if he'd have been one more thing to think about if the guy _had_ gone after Beckett . . . Whether it's a guy thing or a cop thing or a family thing, it's good to know she wasn't alone.

Plus, Castle's _there_.

That's sinking in now. He's _been_ there. At her apartment. He's _been_ at Beckett's _apartment_ all night and he's not bleeding from anywhere obvious.

_That's_ funny.

Esposito gives Ryan a sidelong glance. He runs a hand over the top of his head and shifts his eyes in Castle's direction. Ryan stifles a laugh.

Castle's been there, all right. His hair is plastered over his forehead and shooting up in back. His shirt is untucked and his jaw is dark with stubble in patches. It's appalling. It's funny.

Ryan takes in what feels like his first deep breath all morning and Esposito's shoulders loosen. Morning-after Castle is definitely funny. The two of them spending the night together? That's _hilarious._

This is bad. It's still bad, but they might just make it through this.

* * *

He takes Beckett, Esposito takes Castle. It makes sense. Beckett's less likely to be looking for the big brother routine from Ryan, and Esposito makes Castle a little jumpy at the best of times. That's always funny.

So they'll joke. All of them. They'll get statements and play it for laughs. They won't say a thing about how bad this is.

He and Esposito nod to a pair of stone-faced FBI drones. They head in opposite directions. To the far ends of the apartment. Something nags at Ryan. He stops halfway to the kitchen.

Beckett's leaning on the corner of the kitchen table. She has one fist planted at her hip and her other arm drawn over her middle. She's alert. She's taking in the scene and staying out of the way. She's being a good cop. A good witness, though it has to be killing her. To be waiting, not doing.

She's hanging back, but she's holding on, too. Her knuckles are white over the edge of the table and he has the sudden sense that she'd like to hide. That she's having trouble staying put.

That stops him. It's bad. This whole scene is bad, but he's not ready for _her_ to realize it. It never occurred to either of them that _Beckett_ would know how bad this is.

They're three bodies into this case, and of course she knows it's bad, but a body on her doorstep? The fact that this psycho made it that close to her? There's no way that even registers with her.

That's what makes it worse. The fact that she won't even get what that does to them. Because it's a guy thing, and she's family, and they all know that she'll just take this in stride. Like _of course_ someone's dedicating murders to her. Of course some psycho thinks it's a big game and of course he'd leave a body on her doorstep and what's the big deal?

But the way she's clinging to the table—the way she's holding herself up—it looks like she thinks it's a big deal. It looks like she's ready to run. Like maybe she knows how bad it is, and Ryan isn't ready for that at all.

He steps into the kitchen anyway. He has to be ready, whether he feels like he is or not.

He plasters a smile on his face. He licks his finger and makes a production out of turning to a fresh page in his notebook.

"So, you'd just gotten up, right?"

There's a little bit of a leer underneath. A jibe that rings a little hollow, because he's not ready for the white knuckles and the way she looks like she might fold in half any second.

"Yeah," she says absently. She glances over her shoulder to the stack of pancakes growing cold on the stove and swallows hard. "Castle just finished making breakfast and he went to the door –"

"What kind of breakfast?"

He cuts in sharply. It pulls her attention away from the door. Away from the body and the far end of the apartment. It pulls her attention back to him and his notebook, but the worry is still there. She blinks and apologizes before she can think better of it.

"Uh . . . I'm sorry?"

She _apologizes._ She's missing the joke. The way he's needling her. It's like she knows it's bad and she's forgotten that this is how they do this.

"What kind of breakfast was he making?"

He tries again. He pushes harder than he usually would. A little more Esposito than him, but she's weirding him out.

"Pancakes."

"Well." He smirks. "Isn't _that_ domestic." He smirks, but he thinks about flinching, too. He thinks about diving under the table, because there's no _way_ she can miss that.

She doesn't miss it. Her eyes narrow and she snaps back into herself.

" _Anyway_. . . " She leans heavy on the word. She gets what they're doing here. What he's doing and what she's _supposed_ to be doing. "The paper usually arrives at 4:00, and we were up at 7:00. So that means the killer had a 3-hour window where he could have left the body there unnoticed."

It's a relief. The way she's laying out the timeline. The way the worry fades out from underneath her words. Most of it does, anyway. She's cool and brisk and it's a relief. She's Beckett again and _this_ is what he was expecting.

He's giddy with it. Because _this_ is how they do this. He pushes one more time because it's normal. He's a big fan of normal.

"And exactly what time did you and Mr. Castle go to bed last night?"

It's a second. It's not even a second. It's less than an heartbeat, but her eyes dilate and there's a flush of pink on each cheek bone. The worry is back. Just in that instant she knows it's bad, but it's not about her. Castle was here. _Castle._

It's not even a second, but it's all there. More than he understands.

"I think we're done here," she says and it's one hundred percent Beckett.

It's normal. It's what he would have expected. But he can't forget that second.

Not even a second, but he can't forget.

* * *

Esposito's having an easier time of it. Ryan thinks so at first, anyway, and it's a relief. It makes sense.

Castle's an easier target. Esposito stalks around behind him and Castle twists in place. He flinches as Esposito's radio antenna chimes against the wine glass. He squirms and it's funny. Like it's supposed to be.

It's kind of funny, but there's something not quite right.

Castle's an easy target, but it's weird. He's being _weird._ He knows how bad this is. It right there. Hardly beneath the surface at all. How much it freaks him out that there's a body on Beckett's doorstep. That there was a body-toting psycho on her doorstep in the middle of the night.

Castle knows it's bad. It was there on the phone. Tight, brisk phrases. All nervous facts—every single thing he could remember—and then one stupid joke, because that's how they do this.

Ryan hangs back and waits for that now. He waits for the joke, even though Castle's freaking out, because they all are, and that's how they do this.

But it doesn't come. Castle's not joking. Not at all. He's not leering about Beckett in her jammies. Esposito says the word and his head twitches toward the kitchen. He's looking for her. He has to look for her, and that's weird, too.

Castle hovers. Freaked out Castle _definitely_ hovers. Especially around Beckett.

But he's not now.

He's not joking and he's not hovering. He's not sidling up to her and getting underfoot. He's not swaggering or telling anyone who'll listen that he's the one who found the body. He's not puffing up his chest to say it's a good thing he was there.

He plants his feet and denies everything.

Almost everything.

"There's nothing going on between Beckett and me." There's a pause. Not even a second. His voice rises and his shoulders climb, but it's not even a second. "No more than there was yesterday."

"Dude, you made her _pancakes_?" Ryan barely recognizes his own voice. He hardly understands his own words.

"It's just breakfast," Castle says flatly, and that's not him. This is _not_ how they do this at all.

Realization crowds in on Ryan's mind. It's a lie. Not the pancakes. Although the pancakes, too, because they're _not_ just breakfast.

But the pause is a lie. Two pauses. Not even a second when he adds them together, but enough. Too much and he can't un-know it. He can't un-realize.

Esposito doesn't know. He doesn't realize anything at all. He didn't hear the pause or see Beckett's white knuckles and Ryan can't fault him for that. But how can he not notice? How can it not strike him as the strangest thing in the world that Castle isn't playing this whole thing for laughs?

But Ryan is alone. Esposito doesn't notice. He just goes on.

"Pancakes is not just breakfast. It's an edible way of saying, 'Thank you so much for last night'."

"Castle, come on." Ryan hears himself say it. He hears himself playing along. Following Esposito's lead and trying to get this whole thing back on track, because it was supposed to be a _joke._ "We're your friends. Details."

Castle's face goes hard then. There's another second—another not even a second—and Ryan suddenly wonders what it's like to be him. What it's _really_ like to live life in public like he does. He wonders what it's going to be like for Beckett and he can't un-wonder.

Ryan looks away. He wants to look away.

"All right, come here," Castle says, and it's over.

The hardness is gone, just like that. Castle's looping one arm around each of them. He's looking around. Swaggering and playing at normal. Playing at how it's supposed to go.

"There _are_ no details." He shouts in their ears and pushes away.

Esposito shakes his head in disgust. He makes some crack that Ryan doesn't really hear. He doesn't hear, but says something, anyway, because he has to. Because he's supposed to.

Castle is hovering now. Beckett and Agent Shaw are crouched over the body and he inserts himself behind them. Ryan can't hear what Shaw is saying, but Beckett's face falls and Castle is there in an instant.

He holds up the paper and Beckett snatches it away. There's a flare of anger. Castle answers with a strange smile. Brief. Not even a second, but like it's what he was going for, and maybe he was.

Beckett takes something away from it. Gains something. She's standing taller. She's rapping out questions while Castle looks down at the body again.

It's normal. It's that thing they do, and it's not. He's standing a shade closer than he should. Her fingers worry at the plastic evidence bag around the newspaper, and it's the two of them against the world.

Shaw gives them their orders. Beckett bristles, then nods. Castle follows suit.

"Once you're . . . dressed, of course," Shaw says. It's a parting shot and everyone hears it.

Esposito bumps Ryan's shoulder. He grins and Ryan gives him a tight smile. It's a little green, but Espo doesn't seem to notice.

No one but him seems to notice, and he wishes he didn't. He wants to look away.

Castle steps in front of her. Between Beckett and the rest of the world as best he can. Her eyes close and there's a faint burn to her cheeks. Ryan only knows because he's looking for it. Because he can't _not_ look for it now. He can't not see it.

Castle's head dips toward hers. A fraction of an inch and no more.

There's nothing to it, really. No words between them and just a handful of seconds. They're far enough away from each other that a nun at a school dance would pass them right by.

But Ryan can't look away. He can't forget. He can't un-know and he can't un-realize.

Mom and Dad are kissing.

  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It's more anyway. More than just a guy thing. She's Beckett. She's family, and there's nowhere for this to go. There's nothing for how bad this all is. So they joke. They laugh, because what else can they do?" A follow-up to One is One, my episode insert for Tick, Tick, Tick (2 x 17). AUish from there.

She gets two phone calls in rapid succession. It's her cell, not the lab phone, and that's weird. Esposito's face fills the screen, then Ryan's not even a minute after. That's weird, too. But she's wrist deep in Jane Doe, so weird will have to wait.

She frowns over at the phone as she sets down the forceps to probe entry wound number four with her fingers. They're probably fighting. They probably have some stupid bet they expect her to settle. Like she has time for that. Like she's not playing bullet boggle with the maniac who left a body on her best friend's doorstep.

"Gotcha," she mutters to herself as her finger finds the curve of the metal right where it ends in bone. This one would've been the last. She was dead by then, or as good as. She wouldn't have felt it, but Beckett's secret admirer wasn't finished. He had one last letter to play. She presses on one side of the bullet, then the other, rocking gently until she feels it start to give.

Her phone beeps and beeps again. Two messages. She swears under her breath. She's going to kill the two of them. Whatever they're up to, she's going to knock their fool heads together.

"Bothering me like they don't have a psycho to catch."

She trades fingers for forceps now that she has the bullet worked loose. She glances at the screen and catches sight of their names again just before it goes dark. _Esposito—Voicemail. Ryan—Voicemail._ She has her hands full here, literally, but it's all weird enough that she strips off her gloves the minute the metal goes _tink_ against the bottom of the tray.

She dumps the gloves with one hand and taps over to her voicemail with the other. She plays the messages on speaker. Things just keeps getting weirder.

" _Yo, Castle made Beckett_ pancakes. _Thought you'd wanna know._ " Javier's laugh fades beneath the thump of plastic and the loud brush of fabric as he pockets the phone. It cuts off in mid-chuckle as he finally ends the call.

Ryan's message is the same and not the same at all. He isn't laughing. He's whispering, fast and furious. He sounds . . . traumatized.

" _Uh, Lanie? Hi. Ryan. Uh . . ."_ there's a long pause, then words in a rush with hardly any space between them. _"CastlemadeBeckettpancakes."_ There's another pause, another desperate whisper. _"I have to go."_ There's a long, unsteady breath, then silence.

She plays them back, one after the other, but it's no help. She plays them again. A few more times, but she can't make sense of it. Whatever it is that has Javi giggling like a schoolgirl and Ryan sounding like he's looking for a bed to hide under. She shoves the phone away and grabs a fresh pair of gloves.

"Nobody's got time for you two," she tells the phone. She lifts the sheet and pauses, taking one last look at the nameless woman's pretty features. "You sure don't, do you, honey?"

She lets the sheet fall and turns back to the bench, tray in hand. She rinses the last slug and turns the four of them base-up under the magnifier. The lab door swings open behind her.

"Heard you two were making pancakes when the body dropped," she says absently.

"Nothing happened," Beckett says immediately.

"Riiiiiight." It's a reflexive smirk. She hardly bothers to toss it over her shoulder.

They've had this conversation before. Sometimes it seems like the only conversation they ever have that's not about work. The only conversation, _she_ has anyway. Beckett doesn't have it. Beckett just stares off to one side and has a hundred ways to say the same thing. _Nothing happened._

She lets it drop for now. She knows better than to try to talk sense to Beckett. She knows better than to push and wind up all the way on the outside with everyone else. Everyone but Castle.

The two of them crowd up behind her, their shoulders practically brushing. Castle's working on an 8 o'clock shadow, and it looks like his grooming routine is down to running a wet hand through his hair this morning.

Lanie smiles to herself and files those particular details away. Those particular details _will_ be coming up in a conversation sometime soon. Because that's a whole new kind of nothing.

He made her pancakes.

She smiles to herself and lets it go for now. It's not like there's time to get into it anyway. Kate makes sure of that, and once the letters resolve into a word— _BURN_ —Lanie doesn't feel much like going another round about nothing.

"That's . . . chilling."

She half turns to Castle, ready to snap at him for joking. Waiting for Beckett to get her shot in first, but it never comes. There's silence, and it hits her that it's not really a joke. That Castle meant it that way—that he was trying for one—and he missed.

He missed by a lot. The words are low. Almost like he meant them for Beckett's ears only. Like he's forgotten there are three of them here, practically standing on top of each other.

She's used to that. The way there's never really anyone but the two of them in the room when they're like this. They're like this most of the time nowadays.

 _Nothing happened,_ she thinks. _Right._

It doesn't last long. The silence.

Beckett ducks her chin away from him. She breaks eye contact and asks about fingerprints. She asks if there's anything that might help them ID the vic. She's moving on.

Castle isn't.

It's another moment. It doesn't last long, either, but he's watching her. He's watching Beckett, and Lanie can't shake the feeling that something's different.

He's always worn his heart on his sleeve. It's no different now. He's crazy about her. Crazier every day for better than a year. That's no secret to anyone, but this is more. This isn't just how it is when they're like this.

It's a moment. Lanie stands there on the edge of it. Right on the edge of _Aha_. She thinks about Esposito's message. About Ryan's. He made her _pancakes_. The word tumbles around in her head. It rings out in the silence.

She watches Castle watching Beckett out of the corner of her eye. It's just a moment, but it's enough to make her wonder.

She turns back to the bench. She answers Beckett's question anyway. Even while she wonders. She has practice. She knows how to do this almost as well as they do. How to have one conversation and not the other.

But she wonders if it's finally sunk in. For him at least. She wonders if he's finally realized that life is short and lonely. That Beckett chases killers for a living, and it shouldn't take a body with her name on it—three bodies—for him to man up. For the two of them to finally take that leap.

She wonders, but she gives Beckett her answer. The one she expects and the one she doesn't. Just like that. She doles out the details, one by one. She makes them wait for it.

"She worked with embalming fluid. I also found traces of clay, polyurethane and animal blood."

She pauses. Sits back and watches, because this part is always way it zips between them and the air crackles. They way they both light up, even before they turn to each other. The way a part of Kate comes to life. Some part none of them had ever seen before Castle. Whatever's happening with them—whatever's not happening—it's fun to watch.

"I don't know who she is. . . " She leaves them hanging a second. She waits for it and hardly even needs to finish. She does anyway and she wonders if they even notice. "But I can tell you what she does."

"She's a taxidermist!"

She turns to him and he turns to her and they both light up. They light up and light up some more. It's another moment and Lanie might as well be a world away.

"It's so _cute,_ the way you two do that."

She doesn't mean to say it out loud. She doesn't mean _not_ to, either. She honestly doesn't even expect them to hear. They don't notice her when they're like this. They don't notice anything.

But they notice this time. They hear.

Kate hears. She jerks back around like it burns her to look at him. To be that close. Her tongue pokes out at the corner of her mouth like she's caught. Like she's thinking about back seats and fire escapes and climbing in her bedroom window way after curfew. Like she wonders if they're getting away with this.

Castle hears and doesn't move an inch. He hears and he can't take his eyes off her. He looks at Beckett with his face wide open and his heart on his sleeve. He thinks it's cute, too. He thinks she's cute. He thinks they're cute together.

He turns the smile on Lanie and she doesn't wonder any more.

They're cute _together._

He made her _pancakes._

* * *

A/N: Marking this complete because it . . . probably is? Slight possibility for an epilogue, but I don't want to leave it as a WIP and then not follow-through.


End file.
